Date 05: Rusterman's
"Blackened t'surys marinated in redor sauce, Verdian vine beans poached in flash-grilled brekka beat shells, and wintenberry jelly on five blossom bread," the SE4 announced while it gracefully slid a plate in front of each diner.
"Oh, good," Vanya murmured as she examined her meal. "I've often wondered."
Davish smiled slightly. "At Rusterman's, I understand, one needn't go to the trouble of specifying a meal preference. They research the culinary past of the clientele and their chef droid chooses each day's menu accordingly."
"I'm sure it'll be fine." Reaching for her utensils, she added, "I appreciate the VorCadriaan tendency to avoid any food presentation with an actual face, at least."
That earned her a more genuine grin: "Had a mission in Barnaba space,, did you?"
"Vycynith System," she confirmed with a sigh. "If I never see a shockboxing glove again, it'll be too soon."
Fifteen minutes later, having made steady progress through their main course, Davish poked the table console with a request for more bread. "So the kreehawk is glaring at the ambassador's guard," he resumed, "the guard is glaring at Commander Marques, and the ambassador is cooing at the kreehawk like a debutante with a new pittin. I'm in the corner, wishing the Force would find it convenient to make me invisible, or perhaps open the floor up right under my feet. Moff Tendd holds this benevolent godfatherly expression on his face, but has to pitch his voice to--"
Davish stopped almost in mid-syllable. His eyes intently searched something far past the walls of the room.
Slowly, Vanya lowered her fork to rest on her plate. "Have you, by any chance, suddenly developed a ..."
"... bad feeling about this? All around us, yes."
In mirrored movements, the Jedi Padawan and the Crimson Knight-Errant removed linen napkins from their laps and placed them to the left of their respective plates; pushed back their chairs; stood in the same motion that they stepped away from the table; and turned their backs to one another as they drew their weapons.
"Ladies and gentlemen, kindly move to the wrap check room in a dignified and efficient fashion at this time," Sir Tam said in his best authoritarian voice.
"Not a drill," Vanya added helpfully.
Lightsabers flared brightly, unarmed House VorCadriaan patrons scurried away from their meals, and the advance wave of Crimson Banner pirates charged through the kitchen door.
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